Tipaakke stiffened. The hair on the back of his neck stood up with animal instinct as he heard the warning cry from the outlook.
Mekollaan signaled to his men to head back into the woods. He knew they were outnumbered by the sound of pounding hooves—about a dozen men. To save lives they would retreat into the forest where the white men would be unable to follow them on horseback. Mekollaan was no coward, but it was his responsibility to lead his men home safely. He saw no need to fight the white men. They would keep the girl instead. Death was too honorable for men who left their women to be ravaged by the enemy.
"Good heavens, Father! Those filthy redskins have set fire to the woods!" Henry reined in his horse, his hands trembling. If there was any chance those savages were still there, he didn't intend to come face to face with them. Having escaped once, he knew the odds would be against him if he tempted fate again.
The grey-haired Bullman spurred his animal forward, rushing into the clearing. The other men followed close behind, shouting and firing their weapons as they spotted the Delaware braves. Despite Bullman's instructions, the attack disintegrated into utter chaos. The men rode in circles through the smoke and flames, shooting in every direction as fast as they could reload their flintlocks and muskets.
As the first shot rang out, Tipaakke spotted an unlit wigwam. He grabbed a dry branch, lit it on a blazing bark roof, and rushed to set it on fire. He had no intention of allowing these men to do his people any further dishonor.
Mekollaan signaled his men to go on without him as a musket ball rang out above his head. When he realized Tipaakke was missing, he knew he had to go back. He wouldn't leave his brother behind.
The heavy acrid smoke irritated Tipaakke's lungs and blurred his vision as he started back from the clearing, the thundering of hooves behind him.
"Come back here, you louse-ridden Injun!" A white man on horseback appeared through the smoke.
Tipaakke didn't hear the shot. He didn't feel the leaden ball enter his skull. He saw only the ground suddenly leaping toward him and heard the leaves crumble and crack as his body fell.
At the instant the white man pulled the trigger, Mekollaan's arrow pierced his heart. The man tumbled from his horse, blood spewing from his mouth as the Indian leaped over the hedge. He reached Tipaakke in a split second and dropped his head to his chest. Through the sound of pounding hooves, shooting men and ricocheting musket shots, the red man heard the faint flutter of his brother's heart. He lifted him to his shoulder with ease and trotted off, his stride long and determined.
In the confusion of thick smoke and unorganized men, it was several minutes before Squire Bullman realized the Indians had disappeared into the darkening forest. When he spotted the dead bondsman, he glanced about frantically, fearing for his son's life.
"Henry! Where are you, boy?" Bullman tied a handkerchief around his nose and mouth to filter out some of the choking, blinding smoke. He spun his horse around and made his way out of the clearing and back up onto the dirt road. "They're gone! They've gotten away! Has anyone seen Henry?"
As the men began to emerge from the clearing, Bullman continued to shout for his son. He pressed his horse beside the other men. "Glen, have you seen Henry! Has anyone seen my boy?"
Glen shook his head, wiping the sooty sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Haven't seen him, but the smoke's so thick that I didn't see much of anything. Nothing but those savages leaping over bushes and heading into the woods. I think we'd be foolish to follow them. The damned forest is so dense."
The Squire nodded and turned his horse around, heading back to the burning village. He had to find Henry.
Glen dismounted when he spotted his brother and called to him. "Christ! Did you see what happened to poor Clyde? An arrow, right through his heart!" He beat his chest with a fist, throwing his head back and gasping as if he'd been hit and then straightened up, laughing.
Hoss let out a loud cackle and reached into his saddle bag, withdrawing a bottle of amber-colored liquid. "How about a bit of refreshment?"
"Why not?" He waited until Hoss had taken a sip, and then he tipped the bottle, pouring the fiery liquid down his parched throat.
Hoss leaned against his saddle, waiting for another swig of the brandy. "Just as soon as the smoke clears some, we'll strap him to his horse and haul him home."
Dwayne Dawson came limping through the smoke, leading his horse behind. "Which one of you sons of a bitch shot me in the leg?"
Hoss laughed, handing him the bottle. "You're only grazed, quit complaining."
"Grazed, hell! I've got lead in my leg!" He dropped onto the ground, gritting his teeth at the searing pain ripping through his leg.
Bullman came back out of the cloud of smoke, coughing and spitting. "No sign of Henry anywhere. Ryan, get down and see to Dawson. A man can die from loss of blood awful quick out here." He took control of the group, pushing his concern for Henry aside.
The red-haired Scot slid off his saddle slowly and kneeled to examine the injured man's leg.
"All right, men," Bullman continued with authority. "The smoke is beginning to clear now that the wind's picked up. Let's get down there and see if we can find any signs of the girl . . . or of Henry." He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't imagine where he could have disappeared to. His horse is gone too."
"You know, Henry, I don't recall seeing your boy down there. Saw everyone else." Hoss swung into his saddle and tucked the brandy back into the saddle bag.
The men entered the clearing and dismounted, their voices hushed. They didn't think the Indians would be back, but who could tell what a savage might do? The men were ready to get this over with and get back home to a hot meal. No one was genuinely concerned about the girl except Bullman. They all knew she was long dead.
"Let's take a look around, men. Then we'll be on our way. Get something to poke through the ashes." Bullman dropped the reins of his horse and left him, knowing he wouldn't wander.
"Hey, look what I found, Master Bullman!" The bond servant came running, a woman's bonnet in his hand.
Bullman fingered the wide ribbon on the bonnet. There was no doubt about it. She'd been here. "Put it in my saddle bag."
"Henry!" Glen stood near the blackened pile that had been the Big House. "Better get over here. I knew something smelled putrid. Those heathens were burning people!" He stepped back in disgust, hoping he wasn't going to be sick.
Bullman joined the other men who stood in a semicircle studying a charred, human leg bone. He took a stick and began to poke through the smoldering pile, the bile rising in his throat. What a horrifying way to die. He prayed they'd killed them first.
Suddenly a fresh flame shot up and soon the remains of the wigwam were engulfed again.
"God . . . they did this intentionally. Dried pine . . . they meant to build a hot fire." Bullman threw the stick in a rage, watching it sail until it disappeared into the semidarkness. "Must be them. There's a couple of bodies here. I just can't figure out why they burned them. The Delawares don't burn." He took a deep breath, suddenly weary. He was getting too old for colony life. "Let's go. There's no more to be done here. There's no sign of Henry."
Hoss leaned to whisper in Glen's ear as Bullman mounted. "More than likely the coward's taken off," he mumbled, a grin creeping across his broad face.
Glen winked and swung into his saddle, digging his heels into the bay. It was time to get home.
Katelyn's eyes flew open in terror as a hand in the dark shook her awake. It was the sister. She tugged at Katelyn's arm, pulling her to her feet.
"Come." She said in English that was almost as clear as her brother's. "Tipaakke said you were to have a bath. He doesn't want you stinking up his home."
Katelyn swallowed hard. She was almost as afraid of this young girl as she was of her brothers.
"Come, girl." Tolaala held the door flap open, waiting for her to step through.
"Please, can I have something to wear? I can't go out like this." She clutched
the deerskin wrapped tightly around her body.
"You don't put clean clothes on a dirty body. You whites have the strangest ideas." Tolaala shook her head, bemused by her brother's prisoner. "Let's go."
Katelyn kept her eyes on the grass beneath her feet as she followed close behind. As they passed through the village, the sound of laughing children and the low hum of contented voices surrounded them. This time no one came near; in fact, no one paid any attention to her at all. The smell of roasting meat and fresh baked corn cakes tantalized her senses, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since dawn aboard ship.
She followed Tolaala out of the village and through a line of ancient trees to a running stream.
"There." The girl pointed. "That's where it's deep."
"I can't swim," Katelyn stated, staring at the beautiful dark-skinned girl. "No one ever taught me."
"It's not that deep!" She laughed. "Who ever heard of a grown woman who couldn't swim." Tolaala plopped herself down on the bank and dropped her feet into the water. She knew she shouldn't be mean to the girl, her upbringing was certainly no fault of her own. Her voice softened. "You'll have to hurry. My little girl will be awake soon."
Katelyn dropped the skin to the ground with resolution and waded into the stream. Before this day she couldn't recall ever being totally naked in front of anyone. This girl made the third today.
"Over there," Tolaala called in her sing-song voice. "That's the best spot for bathing."
The water was frigid! But as Katelyn waded deeper into the pool, her body numbed and grew used to the chill. She crouched in the moving stream and rubbed her body briskly, wiping the dust and grime from her pale skin. She splashed her arms, noticing in the light of the rising moon the streaks of dried blood on her forearm.
Jonathan's blood . . . She watched in a dream-like state as the blood again ran bright and wet as it mixed with the water. Don't think about him. There's nothing you could have done. You've got to start worrying about yourself. You must keep yourself alive until help comes. It will come, Kate. Henry will come. He will take you away from that savage. He'll marry you and you'll live in a big house and have lots of children. She glanced back at Tolaala sitting at the edge of the water tossing pebbles and watching the ripples they produced. The sister has done you no harm, nor has . . . She didn't dare speak his name, not even to herself.
"Hurry. My daughter will be awake and screaming to eat."
Katelyn dipped her head in the water again and then waded towards the bank. You're going to be all right, she told herself as she squeezed the water from her tangled tresses.
"Here. My brother said to give this to you. It's a winter dress, but he said you wouldn't be comfortable unless your tuulke were covered."
She reached for the dress and thanked her, appalled to think that the brave and this girl had been discussing her private parts.
The dress Tolaala gave her was made of animal skin, though, she couldn't recognize what kind of animal it had come from because it had been scraped clean. It was simple with a round neckline and no sleeves, reaching just above her knees. She pulled the dress over her head and smoothed it over her body. She was a little larger than Tolaala so the dress was tight, but she was so glad to have something to cover her nakedness that she would have worn just about anything.
I don't suppose I'd better ask for underdrawers, she thought, grabbing the skin she'd used for a wrap and trotting to catch up with the Indian girl.
Mekollaan kneeled near a running brook and laid his little brother gently in the soft moss. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Mekollaan whispered a prayer to Manito as he plucked grass and dipped it into the cool water. He passed the wad of dripping grass across Tipaakke's forehead.
My brother must live! He must! Mekollaan knew he wasn't ready to rule alone as chief of his people should the time come. No, his brother could sometimes see and understand what Mekollaan feared he himself might not ever understand. There had been talk between he and his father about dual leadership. Tipaakke hadn't been told, yet.
The brave dipped the grass into the cold water again and replaced it. He knew he couldn't allow Tipaakke to sleep like this for too long. The longer he slept, the father Fox's soul wandered. After a certain point, he wouldn't be able to return to his body if he wanted to.
"Listen to me, Tipaakke. You must come back. I need you, little brother. Come back to me and one day we will rule side by side, something never done before in the history of our great people." Mekollaan wished desperately now that he hadn't ordered the other men to return to the village. Now he would have to carry his brother all the way home himself.
He bathed his brother's head one last time, washing the blood encrusted hair where the leaden ball had entered his skull. He then kneeled again and swung him up onto his shoulder.
Home, he told himself. Take him home. The Shaman will know how to care for him. He will use his power with the great spirits to bring my brother back.
Chapter Three
Slowly, Katelyn still dazed with sleep, raised her head. For two days she had kept her vigil over Fox, forcing broths down his throat, mopping his sweat-drenched body, and praying.
The ancient, wizened medicine man had come three times. Each time he lit an odd smelling stick and sang and danced until its flame burned out. In the back of her mind Katelyn could still see the old man's long white braids swinging as his feet created intricate patterns on the dusty floor, his body moving to the silent music of his ancestors. The old man had come to be a comfort to Katelyn, for they both worked toward the same goal. Fox's survival.
He must live! He must! For if he died, so would she!
When Hawk carried his brother in his arms into the wigwam, his words had been brief. "Do you see what you have done, white woman? You have killed my brother."
"He's dead?"
"No. Not yet. His soul hovers above his body. But if you don't do something for him, he'll soon be gone."
"Me? What can I do for him. I don't even know what's wrong with him!"
"Can't you see the blood!" he snarled, his lips curling at the corners. "He's been shot in the head by a white man. One of your white men!"
"Henry! You've seen Henry! He came back for me?"
"I wouldn't concern myself with your man right now. I have sent for the medicine man. But you must make him live!"
"How? I know nothing of medicine. He needs a doctor."
"I don't know what you're going to do for him. But you will care for him. Do you know why?"
Katelyn shook her head as a tremor of ominous fear surged through her body.
"Because if he dies, you will be mine. And you will not live to see another sunrise."
Katelyn rubbed her aching eyes, pushing thoughts of Hawk's threats aside. She ran her fingers through tangled hair and attempted to straighten her stiff legs. She'd fallen asleep on the dirt floor again, her head resting on the platform where Fox's body lay.
What had woken her? It was still dark outside; a cool night breeze tugged at the door flap. Had there been a sound? Had someone spoken? Was she just dreaming? Katelyn's eyes adjusted to the dim light. Movement? Had the Indian just moved his hand?
She got to her knees and peered anxiously into the quiescent, tanned face. Suddenly his eyes flickered open.
"Fox!" she gasped. "Heavenly Father, bless you!" She grabbed the brave's hand and it tightened. "Can you hear me, Fox?"
As he slowly drifted back to earth, leaving behind the souls of his wife and son, Tipaakke became aware of the faint scent of femininity. He could feel someone leaning over him; hair, thick and sweet smelling, tickled his face. He struggled within his mind to clear the smoke from his thoughts as he listened to the soft, reassuring voice.
A woman was calling him. Who? Who is calling you, Tipaakke? Think! Slowly he struggled from the depths of the drugged-like state. The voice . . . the white girl with the fox hair. But something wasn't right . . . Name . . . what is her name? Something's wrong . . . something's v
ery wrong.
"Katelyn . . . "
The deep voice startled her. "Yes. Yes, I'm here, Fox. You're all right. You're safe here in your . . . " Her mind searched for the right word. " . . . wigwam. I must get your father and brother. I promised." She stood up, but Fox groped for her hand.
"No. Stay with me. I can't see. I'm blind."
Katelyn dropped to her knees, clutching his hand. Thoughts of her own safety vanished from her mind. Tears trickled unchecked down her pale cheeks. She squeezed his hand tighter, not knowing what to say. How does one comfort an Indian? How does one comfort any man who has learned that he's blind?
"What's happened to me. Can't remember. Tell me girl."
"You . . . " Her heart quickened. "You were shot by one of my bethrothed's people. He had come to rescue me." Her shoulders slumped. With these words, she knew she had condemned herself to die.
"I remember going back to light one of the wigwams." He pulled his hand from her's and swung his feet to the floor. "Take me to my father's wigwam."
"No. I can't. Your brother told me not to let you up. Let me get them." Trembling, she pushed a strand of knotty hair behind one ear.
Tipaakke pulled himself to his feet then fell back onto the platform, sweat beading across his forehead.
"Just sit, I'll be right back." She lifted the flap and flew across the compound to the chiefs wigwam.
Katelyn hesitated in the shadowy moonlight. Should she knock? Don't be silly, Katie! Where are you going to knock? She lifted the hide flap and stepped in. On one platform she spotted the old man curled in a ball, sleeping contentedly. Across from him lay Hawk who was stretched out with one arm flung across his forehead.
Whom should I wake? She had no desire to get close enough to Hawk to wake him, but it would be senseless to wake the chief. He didn't speak English. Katelyn took a step closer to Hawk and then another, eyeing him closely.
Suddenly an arm shot out and grabbed her, holding her prisoner with an iron grip. A faint squeak escaped from her lips as Hawk drew her between his knees.
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